


Friend of Crows

by 94BottlesOfSnapple



Series: Nwalin Week 2015 [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Dragon Sickness, Dyslexia, F/F, Female Balin, Female Dwalin, Female Nori (Tolkien), Nwalin Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:45:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3942430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/94BottlesOfSnapple/pseuds/94BottlesOfSnapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Prompt 4: Animals<br/>The fourth of my Nwalin Week 2015 pieces, set in a very similar universe to A King and Her Damosels.<br/>In other words, the entire Company are ladies (excluding Bombur and Gloin).</p>
<p>As the Company begins to settle into the ruins of Erebor, Nori realizes she and the ravens do not get along.<br/>Dwalin attempts to be a diplomat. Normally it might be funny, but even though the dragon's gone, things in Erebor are not right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friend of Crows

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if 'anxiety attack' is exactly the right descriptor for what happens in this piece, but I couldn't think of what else to call them.
> 
> Additionally, I have no personal experience about what it's like to live with dyslexia or how to describe it, but I've tried my best from what I've read on the subject and I apologize if there's anything inaccurate here.

Dwalin has had her spats with animals. Really. She’s not usually one to judge. But seeing Nori on the ramparts all but screaming at a raven – by the rounded shape of the head and the voice it’s Kraa, one of the younger females – is perhaps one of the most unnerving things she has ever witnessed.

“I don’t need your help anyway!” Nori is shouting, over the unbroken wordless screech of rage coming from Kraa’s beak. “You pompous black puffball! I know lame crows worth ten of you! If you think I’d ever—”

Dwalin sticks two fingers in her mouth and lets loose a shrill whistle.

Thankfully, she’s stoic enough to contain the urge to laugh when both Nori and Kraa snap their heads towards her, tilted identically. But maybe, _maybe_ she files it away for posterity. Dwalin clears her throat.

“Do I wanna know?” she asks flatly.

Nori straightens up and crosses her arms over her chest, grunting a quick, “’t’s nothing.”

Kraa just shuffles her feathers agitatedly. Staring both Dwarf and raven down, Dwalin waits. Neither will be forthcoming with an explanation, clearly, but she’s determined to get one. The ravens of Erebor had been an integral part of Dwalin’s childhood, since she was of a noble family. The thought of one of their Company – Nori especially – getting in a dispute with them is… Uncomfortable. She doesn’t like the sick feeling it induces in the pit of her stomach.

“I am not some common messenger bird,” Kraa snaps at last, taking two trotting steps towards Dwalin and bobbing her head in an avian bow. “I am from the line of Carc and Roäc, and my oath is to the noble houses of Erebor, not a _rude…_ ”

The sound that comes from Kraa’s beak next is neither Westron nor Khuzdul. It’s an ugly, crowlike screech, and the meaning is clear enough just from that. To many ravens and Dwarrows alike, crows are suspicious, rude, of an ill look; lowborn.

Nori’s shoulders tense jerkily at Kraa’s insult, drawing Dwalin’s gaze. That, then, is the subject of contention. But though the guard captain is sure the corvine expletive was uncalled for, she’s aware it is a careful balancing game, working with the ravens after so long. And the Company cannot afford to alienate them. Carefully, Dwalin ducks her own head to Kraa, then turns to Nori.

“And what did you ask of Kraa, Nori?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” the thief insists, shooting the raven beside her an intense glare that tells Dwalin it is clearly _not_ nothing.

But Nori is stubborn. And she’s not going to say anything, it seems.

“Then let’s break it up,” Dwalin mutters, grabbing Nori gently by the arm, giving the thief plenty of time to pull away.

She doesn’t.

“Kraa,” the guard captain says, as politely as she can manage – channeling her sister, “please excuse us. May the winds blow favorably for you.”

Kraa bows again.

“And may the stone stay firm beneath your feet, my lady,” the raven replies before taking wing.

Still holding Nori by the arm, Dwalin marches her way to a secluded portion of Erebor’s entrance hall, well-shielded by rubble.

“What, is this an interrogation?” Nori snaps when she’s released, more like a petulant child than a grown Dwarf.

“No. But the ravens of Erebor are our _allies_ , Nori. What in Arda did you—?”

But Dwalin trails off when she sees Nori close in on herself, eyes flashing. Something isn’t right. In fact, something is terribly wrong.

 

Nori can’t stop herself as one hand flinches towards her belly. It’s a reaction she thought she’d curbed long before, but that’s in normal circumstances, _controllable_ circumstances—

_“If I ever catch you stealing from me again—”_

The way Thorin’s eyes lock on her anymore, cold and dead and _wrong,_ everything is—

“Nori!”

The thief blinks hard, shudders, and comes back to herself with big warm hands bracketing her shoulders. Dwalin’s scarred, crooked nose is just a hand’s breadth away and suddenly Nori can’t catch her breath for an entirely different reason.

“’m fine,” she wheezes, lifting her arms slowly to break Dwalin’s grip.

The guard captain backs away. Nori catches Dwalin’s gaze flick down to her hands, big and inked and rough, and knows the other Dwarf is thinking things about herself that shouldn’t be thought. But there’s no time for correcting that, not now. No time, because Nori needs to find another way, to…

“Dwalin.”

The name is out of Nori’s mouth before she can think, but isn’t this exactly the right thing? She’s already chosen, she’d chosen ages ago. And it’s wrong to ask Dwalin to defy Thorin, it is – she knows how close they are, achingly close. They look at each other like the sun and moon. Nori doesn’t think either could imagine a world without the other, and maybe – with Dori’s strong-but-gentle touch and Ori’s sweet smiles filling her mind – maybe she understands that.

“What is it?”

“I,” and the second word is the hardest, somehow, to get out. “I asked Kraa to. Thorin, if she thinks I stole—I can’t. Live with no escape routes. I _can’t_. I didn’t _do_ anything, I didn’t—”

And then Nori was enfolded in heat, and strength. The hug is one promising safety, the way Dori’s embraces always do when they’re at the end of their collective ropes. But Dwalin’s arms are bigger, and her scent is coarser, and her heart is pounding like an army or a war chant.

“I promise you, Nori. Thorin would never—”

But the promise cuts off halfway even without Nori interrupting to object, because Dwalin is observant and Dwalin is not a fool, and even though it will tear her apart she knows Thorin has changed just as well as Nori does.

“I won’t let her get that far,” Dwalin amends, though it’s not much better of a promise. “I’ll defend you.”

She pulls back, holding Nori at arm’s length and locking gazes in a clear attempt to show her seriousness. And maybe Nori feels something inside herself falter, miss a step. Because she is a thief and a ne’er-do-well and everything that Dwalin hates, and _why_ is she choosing Nori when defying Thorin breaks her stone heart?

“Why?”

Again her mouth’s speaking without her permission, and Nori’s not sure if it’s because Bofur’s rubbed off on her or if it’s because it’s Dwalin who’s looking at her with that stupid concerned gaze.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” the guard captain snaps.

“ _Why_?” the thief demands again, harsher. “I know what I am, I _know_ —”

Her voice breaks in the middle, and Nori finds herself cautioning Dwalin – making excuses – she doesn’t want things to be expected of her that she isn’t, that she can’t…

“—so why would you care if I’m around or not? I’m no good—”

 “You’re an insufferable, twitch-fingered _flirt_ you mean,” Dwalin growls, frowning. “But you’re loyal. And determined. Your sisters need you, and want you around. We all do, you’re a part of this Company and any Dwarf would be luckier for your affections!”

_Including you?_ Nori wants to ask, but doesn’t.

 

There’s an echoing silence after her pronouncement, and Dwalin can feel heat creeping up her neck. She snatches Nori by the wrist to counter it and strides off towards the living area the Company’s cleared of debris. Balin will be there, and Balin will know what to do, because she always does.

It seems to take much longer to get there, but Balin is sitting at the table in the main room, poring over papers with a troubled look on her face, just as Dwalin had expected.

“Balin.”

The white-haired elder daughter of Fundin doesn’t even look up from the page, but rubs her forehead and grimaces.

“Oh, good, you’re back. Come here Dwalin, read this for me, I can’t make out this passage at all. The letters keep shifting on me, and I’ve lost my ruler in the hoard.”

Dwalin drops her grip on Nori as she steps forward. It’s instinct, by now, to drop everything when Balin needs help this way, a penance. It’s not much effort, and she’s never understood quite why it is that runes refuse to cooperate for Balin’s mind, when she’s so talented at stringing the words themselves together. If life were fair, it would have been Dwalin whose mind refused to read. She was the clod, the Bull, Fundin’s too-big second child. She never needed words on a page the way Balin did.

At a younger age, she’d been naively callous – it had seemed such a simple task, reading, and for Balin to struggle with it felt ludicrous. It took so little for the letters to form words and then sentences and then ideas, and all she could think to tell her sister was to try harder. It was only after a harsh tongue-lashing from their father that Dwalin learned that letters were not so easy for everyone, that though her sister loved words and eloquence and the intricacies of law, this part would never be easy for her. But that, Dwalin can help with.

Smiling just the slightest at the memory, she looms over her older sister to catch sight of the writing. The scrawl is familiar; Ori’s hand, quick and swishing. Then, Dwalin begins to recite.

“Upon discovery of the royal larder, supplies: anything edible has gone to dust in the years since the dragon Smaug’s possession of the mountain. However, there are large casks of salt which will surely avail us in cooking. So far, I have counted three barrels. There are five other barrels of spice, but their contents are inadvisable for consumption.

“Additionally, there is a room off the right of the kitchen larder which houses dishware and eating utensils. Each stack of plates or bowls counts twenty-five, and as there are at least forty stacks, we have at least a thousand of each. Spoons, knives, and forks are also in abundance. Pots and pans show little sign of deterioration in their many years of disuse. Despite wear, the kitchen area plumbing is still functional, which gives us a working supply of water, both to drink and to make broth from.”

Dwalin finishes with a large exhale and Balin opens her eyes, which had closed when Dwalin began to read – as usual. And that is the moment they both see Nori from the corner of their eyes, studying them warily.

 

Nori has known for quite some time, of course, that there are Dwarrows for whom words will not cooperate. But to find out, so unexpectedly, that Balin is one of them is startling. She isn’t quite sure how to react – to ignore it? To ask? With both daughters of Fundin staring, she finds herself doing neither in favor of fiddling with her sleeve.

The silence stretches into the distance, unyielding.

Then, as her eyes flick up to the sisters, Nori catches Balin’s gentle smile. The older Dwarf pats the table she’s seated at slightly in a come here gesture, and so Nori does.

“Did you two need something?” Balin asks finally, with Dwalin standing behind her and Nori before her.

“Nori got into an argument with Kraa,” explains the guard captain bluntly.

“Hey!”

It’s the bare bones of truth, but Nori’s a bit offended to find Dwalin summing it down to that. As if they’d had some sort of spat over something ridiculous! Balin’s amused smile doesn’t help.

“Yes, I suppose they wouldn’t take to kindly to a friend of crows,” the white-haired Dwarf muses, setting her elbows on the table and lacing her gloved fingers.

Elitists, Nori thinks, a bit uncharitably. Crows are clever and wicked and always remember a face – just as she does. And maybe it’s the similarities between them that makes her defensive, but she’s known a great many crows in Ered Luin – not known for an abundance of ravens the way Erebor is – and they have always been good to her as long as she is to them. Perhaps they aren’t as large and pretty and glossy as the ravens of Erebor, but that certainly doesn’t make them any lesser.

The similarities Nori is drawing between birds and Dwarrows are becoming uncomfortable when Balin’s finally had enough of waiting for further explanation and clears her throat.

“And?” she demands.

“In case— We haven’t found the Arkenstone, and if Thorin thinks she’s—”

It’s very little consolation that speaking the possibility aloud is just as hard for Dwalin. Thankfully for everyone, Balin is no fool either, and understands immediately.

“Yes, I think it’s best to have a plan in place,” she agrees, with a sad smile. “You and I will never leave her, but the others need to think of their own families – Nori especially. I agree. Thorin is… Changing.”

Nori notices Balin does not say wrong or ill or crazy. She knows better than to point that out, however.

“So you have an idea,” prompts Dwalin, with obvious relief coloring her tone.

Her sister’s face is not so eased – in fact, to Nori it looks paler, more drawn. But still Balin nods at Dwalin.

“Yes. But it’s for you and I to implement,” she says carefully, before giving Nori a pointed look. “Perhaps it would be best if _you_ got some rest, lassie. We’ve all been on our feet too long lately.”

Normally, she would have protested, but Nori is shaken and Balin’s advice is sound. She heads for the stairs to the bedrooms, but can’t stop herself from waiting just around the corner. To eavesdrop, to gather information, to make sure Dwalin and Balin will be alright.

What she sees is not heartening. Balin slumps until her wide forehead rests on the table, and Dwalin’s shoulders are hunched. They speak softly enough that Nori can’t hear what they’re saying to one another, but she doesn’t need to.

Her hand goes to her belly again, and she almost imagines she can feel the jagged line of scar tissue through her many layers. Everything is wrong. They’ve won, the dragon is defeated, what was supposed to be their most impossible obstacle is now smoldering in a lake, but it still isn’t over. Something terrible is coming, and Nori doesn’t need to read portents like Óin to know it – she can feel the impending impact deep in the marrow of her bones.

Nothing is going to be alright something is terribly wrong everything is falling apart and there’s nothing any of them can—

_“I promise you, Nori.”_

_“I’ll defend you.”_

_“Any Dwarf would be luckier for your affections!”_

Nori takes in a ragged gasp of air, and the knot of panic tied around her lungs begins to, miraculously, dissipate. A wave of exhaustion washes over her then, and she takes one last glance at the daughters of Fundin before stumbling up the rest of the stairs and collapsing into her bedroll.

Just as she fades out of consciousness, Nori imagines she can feel big warm arms encircling her.


End file.
